fs 

5545 
W 1 546y 


YOUTH 


J.    H.    WALLIS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
Mrs.   George  Gore 


YOUTH 

By 

J.    H.    WALL  IS 


Boston 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

The  Gorham  Press 

1907 


Copyright  1907,  by  J.  H.  Wallis 
All  rights  reserved 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


P5 


DEDICATION 

To  My   Mother 

To  you  I  owe  much  of  my  being 

And  most  of  my  heart 
That  throbs  with  the  feelings  my  fancy 

Has  clothed  in  this  costume  of  art. 
There  are  those  that  are  common  to  many 

And  potent  to  injure  or  bless; 
And  these  let  all  know  of,  but  others 

We  dare  not  express. 

The  years  that  are  age's  creators 

And  death's  harbingers 
Are  strong  with  an  equal  dominion 

In  your  heart  and  my  heart  and  my  verse. 
But  those  who  are  numb  unto  sorrow 

Are  weaker  and  poorer  by  far, 
And  so  we  would  not  have  us  other 

Than  such  as  we  are. 


922423 


CONTENTS 

Youth  9 

Youth  and  Fame IO 

The  Yearning  of  Youth II 

Youth  and  Age 13 

Youth  Compares  Himself  with  Age 17 

Youth's  a  Stuff  will  not  Endure 1 8 

Love's    Altar 19 

Snares 2O 

A  Visitor 21 

Two  Lovers 22 

The  Widower 23 

The  New  America 25 

Iowa   29 

The  City 31 

Heaven 33 

Our  Creation   36 

New  Year's  Eve 39 

Song  to  Maia 40 

Summer    41 

The  Flux  of  Things 43 

The  Poet 44 


YOUTH 


YOUTH 

I  exult  in  what  age  cannot  grieve, 

I  am  filled  with  what  time  cannot  tire: 
Unboundable  power  to  achieve, 

Unreachable  goals  to  inspire. 
In  my  boundless  control  over  things, 

In  my  limitless  reach  of  desire 
I  am  equal  with  conquerors  and  kings  — 

I  am  youth,  I  am  life,  I  am  fire! 

I  awake  to  the  scope  of  my  being  — 

All  is  sudden  and  endless  and  new; 
My  work  is  too  vast  for  the  seeing, 

But  I  know  what  my  effort  can  do. 
Where  are  armies  that  I  cannot  lead  them  ? 

Where  are  foes  that  would  dare  me  to  strife  ?- 
The  sword  and  the  cannon  shall  feed  them. 

I  am  fire,  I  am  youth,  I  am  life! 

Obeisance  ?  —  my  power  will  command  it 

To  the  mandate  I  bear  in  my  strife. 
With  the  sizzling  of  fire  I  will  brand  it, 

I  will  seal  it  with  letters  of  life. 
And  its  end  will  be  like  its  beginning: 

"Bow  down  to  the  progress  of  truth." 
And  the  world  is  too  small  for  the  winning  — 

I  am  life,  I  am  fire,  I  am  youth! 


YOUTH  AND  FAME 

World,  wrinkled  world,  while  I  am  young  grant 

fame. 

While  I  can  taste  the  fruit  of  my  desire 
Light  on  each  hill  a  leaping  signal  fire; 
Yea,  let  thy  vassal  hills  in  fire  proclaim 
Across  the  lands  the  blazing  of  my  name. 

Grant  laurel  crowns  and  jewelled  and  golden 

wire 

That  I  may  fling  them  at  Her  feet  entire 
While   on    her   cheeks   the    blood    burns   like   a 
flame. 

When  life's  low  fire  glows  a  dull  ashy  red, 
And  earth  I  count  of  little  worth  or  wit, 

Fame  may  be  mine  when  fame's  desire  is  fled, 
When  I  am  old  and  do  not  care  for  it; 
And  she  who  was  to  wear  my  crowns  and  sit 

A    queen  —  who    knows  ?  —  perhaps    she    may 
be  dead. 


10 


THE  YEARNING  OF  YOUTH 

Before  I  am  tied  to  a  city, 

Or  smile  by  the  side  of  a  wife, 
I  must  look  on  earth's  riches  and  secrets 

To  feed  my  keen  craving  of  life. 
I  must  sail  to  the  ends  of  the  ocean, 

And  gaze  on  the  faces  of  kings, 
In  the  land  of  the  morning  and  evening 

I  must  look  on  strange  things. 

Across  the  hot  sands  of  Sahara 

In  the  train  of  the  slow  caravan 
I  shall  follow  the  craving  that  leads  me, 

That  stirs  in  the  youth  of  a  man. 
The  anger  of  heat  and  of  sunlight, 

The  jargon  of  alien  speech 
For  my  eyes  and  my  ears  will  be  feeding 

Of  the  hunger  of  each. 

From  the  realm  where  the  heat  is  eternal 

To  the  kingdoms  of  mountains  of  cold, 
With  Danger  and  Death  for  my  comrades 

I  shall  seek  some  red  battle  of  old. 
Beyond  the  last  flag  of  our  nations, 

Beyond  the  dominion  of  steam, 
Where  the  Great  King  was  conquered  or  captured 

Is  the  land  of  my  dream. 


II 


I  would  tread  where  has  trod  Alexander, 

In  the  secreted  heart  of  the  East, 
I  would  taste  all  its  sweets  and  its  sorrows, 

In  its  rites  I  would  be  as  a  priest. 
I  would  learn  of  its  wonders  and  riches 

Of  fabrics  and  diamonds  and  pearls, 
I  would  gaze  on  its  age-hidden  secrets 

And  the  graces  of  girls. 

The  red  grapes  of  joy  and  of  pleasure, 

The  blood,  red  and  streaming,  of  strife, 
The  poison  of  anguish  and  sorrow, 

Will  fill  the  rich  cup  of  my  life. 
All  sounds  and  all  tastes  and  all  colors 

And  motions,  are  part  of  my  goal, 
And  feelings  and  passions  and  dreamings 

Are  food  for  my  soul. 

And  all  this  will  be  like  the  music 

That  adds  to  the  spirit  that  hears, 
Or  like  words  that  are  heard  and  forgotten 

(Enriching  the  days  and  the  years). 
The  earth  is  my  vassal  to  serve  me, 

The  flesh  is  my  servant  to  feed, 
And  the  nations  I  hold  in  a  thralldom 

For  my  wishes  or  need. 


12 


YOUTH  AND  AGE 

Youth 

I  am  tense  with  the  glory  of  living, 

Filled  with  forces  of  life  as  they  are; 
My  goal  is  the  end  of  creation, 

And  my  guidance  a  star. 
I  am  trembling  with  numberless  longings, 

I  am  eager  for  labors  that  lure, 
Though  my  mind  seeks  the  world  for  a  conquest 

My  strength  will  endure. 

Age 

I  near  the  end  of  my  journey  — 

The  end  of  the  journey  is  pain. 
My  goal  is  clay  of  the  graveyard, 

My  guide  is  a  cane. 

Youth 

I  have  gazed  on  the  white  beams  of  heaven 

And  have  laughed  at  the  wonders  of  earth, 
For  my  friends  are  the  stars  in  their  courses, 

And  the  world  is  my  mirth. 
And  all  things  are  tools  for  my  using 

Or  the  ministers  of  my  desire, 
For  the  earth  and  the  air  are  my  servants 

And  the  water  and  fire. 


Age 

Beyond  the  nebulae  forming 

I  have  travelled  in  torment,  my  friend; 
I  have  gazed  on  the  earth  and  its  wonders, 

And  have  thought  of  the  end. 
My  eyes  are  hollow  with  seeing, 

My  lips  are  silent  with  awe, 
For  I  cannot  forget  where  I  travelled  — 

Nor  tell  what  I  saw. 

Youth 

To  delve  in  the  mysteries  hidden, 

Unhindered  by  ages  of  awe, 
The  truth  to  discover  unbidden  — 

Then  to  tell  what  I  saw  — 
This  is  part  of  the  scope  of  my  purpose 

That  the  nations  may  cringe  at  my  name, 
And  the  rocks  and  the  rivers  and  cities 

Quiver  with  fame. 

Age 

Our  blasts  that  sound  so  boldly 

On  the  headland  heights  of  fame 
Are  as  creaking  of  the  crickets 

In  the  roar  of  a  flame. 
Yea,  the  name  for  which  you  struggle, 

On  the  giddy  wheel  of  time 
Is  like  dust  before  the  whirlwind, 

Or  a  lost  rime. 


I  know  that  no  mortal  endureth, 

Not  the  true  nor  the  just  nor  the  great; 

We  are  but  the  toys  of  the  ages 
And  the  puppets  of  fate. 

Youth 

Nay!  one  thing  can  fate  annul  never, 

Nor  can  the  ages  destroy; 
One  thing  endureth  forever 

Neither  puppet  nor  toy. 
When  the  flare  of  the  suns  is  in  ashes 

And  the  thunder  of  planets  above 
Is  ended,  one  thing  will  be  living, 

And  that  is  love! 

She  has  given  that  life  to  my  spirit 

That  a  thousand  deaths  cannot  slay, 
The  rusting  of  years  cannot  wear  it, 

Nor  time  take  away; 
She  has  given  the  glory  of  living 

Since  I  knew  that  my  breath  is  her  breath, 
That  I  feel  contempt  for  the  ages 

And  pity  for  death! 


Age 

The  words  of  youth  are  like  torches 

That  flare  and  at  midnight  decay, 
The  thoughts  of  youth  are  like  shadows 

That  night  takes  away. 
The  bolts  that  you  thundered  so  surely 

In  your  clamorous  volley  of  breath 
Are  like  raindrops  that  strive  with  the  ocean 

On  the  armor  of  death. 

The  passion  of  youth  is  nothing 

That  death  takes  reckoning  of, 
And  fate  is  not  stayed  for  a  woman 

And  all  of  her  love. 
For  me  a  friend  is  my  choosing. 

In  my  respite  while  death  still  delays 
I  seek  out  some  lonely  old  comrade 

And  talk  of  old  days. 

My  glory  of  life  is  departed 

Like  a  shadow  that  night  takes  away, 
I  shiver  afraid  of  the  highest, 

With  fear  in  the  way. 
My  eyes  are  turned  backward  from  seeing, 

My  lips  are  silent  with  awe, 
For  I  dare  not  reflect  on  my  journey, 

Nor  see  what  I  saw. 


16 


I    am  young   and   full   of  dreams  — 
Dreams     of    honor,     wisdom,     doubt, 

Love    wherein    all    gladness    seems  — 
What  has    age   to    dream    about  ? 

All   my  thoughts   are  things   to   come: 
Deeds    all   great   and    strange    and    new, 

Yearnings  leading  far  from   home  — 
What   strange   things   has   age   to   do  ? 

If  she   will   be   mine   some   day  — 
Helen,    Grace,    or    Rosalys  — 

Greater  sweet  would   no   man   pray  — 
What  red  lips  has  age  to  kiss  ? 

All  my  joys  are  yet  to  be; 

His  can  never  be,  he  knows, 
Having  been,   He  has  to  see 

Only  what  can  death  disclose. 


YOUTH'S  A  STUFF  WILL  NOT  ENDURE 

Kiss  me  tonight,  dear,  while  we're  young 
And  the  love-light  shines  through  your  happy 
tears; 

Ask  no  delays,  for  the  knell's  soon  rung, 

And  where  shall  we  be  in  a  hundred   years  ? 

Nobody  will   ask   to   kiss  you  then, 

Nobody    will    say   that    your    smile    endears; 

Millionaires,    servant-maids,    beggar-men 

Will  walk  on  your  grave  in  a  hundred  years. 

I  shall  not  ask  to  kiss  you  then. 

I  shall  be  dead,  and  my  mind  that  fears 
And  my  heart  that  longs  will  be  nothing  when 

The  circuit  is  run  of  a  hundred  years. 

Kiss  me  tonight,  dear,  while  you  can; 

Love  me  the  more  ere  the  dark  day  nears 
When  the  horror  comes  o'er  the  soul  of  a  man. 

Where  shall  we  be  in  a  hundred  years  ? 


18 


LOVE'S  ALTAR 

The  incense  of  Love's  sacrifice  is  sweet 
When  everyone  doth  bring  his  offering, 
And  blushful  lovers  join  in  worshiping, 

Singing  the  songs  through  ancient  usage  meet. 

Who  heeds  the  sound  of  toiling  in  the  street, 
Or  turns  his  steps  to  dusty  wayfaring  ? 
Song  upon  song!     It  is  a  priceless  thing 

To  place  a  votive  offering  at  Love's  feet. 

Ceaseless  the  gifts  that  pile  Love's  altar  high  — 
Richest  of  all  the  heart  hath  choices  of; 

Yea,  the  sweet  savor  trailing  lightly  by 
Is  ever-burning  life-blood  true  enough, 

For  charred  and  dead  upon  Love's  altar  lie 

Life's     dearest     things    but    one  —  and    that 
one  love. 


SNARES 

Hair  spun  of  spider-gold, 

Lips   one  would   die  to   kiss, 
Will   it   be   held   amiss 

Should  I  be  overbold  ? 

Caught   in    the    spider's    thread 
Who  holds  the  fly  to  blame  ? 
Should  there  to  me  be  shame 

By  spider-beauty  led  ? 

Eros  hath  smitten  me 

By  that  heart-bow,  thy  mouth. 

Thirsty  from  Love's  long  drouth 
I  seek   my  well  in  thee. 


20 


A  VISITOR 

My   life  will   be   little  without   her, 
Without  her  my  strength  will  decay, 

For  the  spirit  of  love  is  about  her 
And  that  is  my  power  and  my  stay; 

My  purpose  will  fail  and  hope  sicken 
When  she  is  gone  away. 

The  flower  and  the  flower-leaf 

Will  wither    in    the    grass, 
The    oat-sheaf   and    the    barley-sheaf 

Will  mold  as  the  rains  pass, 
And   the   golden-rod   will   come   to   grief 

With  all  the  wealth  it  has. 

She  is  pure  as  the  air  of  the  mountains 

To  the  traveller  at  rest, 
And  cool  as  the  spray  of  fountains 

When  the  heat  is  bitterest, 
Or   as   winds   across   the  waters 

When  the  sun  is  in  the  west. 


21 


TWO  LOVERS 

Her  cheeks  are  the  silvery  pink  that  lies 
In  shells,  her  eyes  are  heavenly  blue, 

Her  mouth  is  sweet  with  modesties, 
Her  hair  is  sun  and  shadow  too. 

His    deep-set    eyes    look    straight    before 
Half-dreamily,  seeing  future  things, 

His  limbs  are  strong  with  the  strength  of  four, 
His   head   is   royal,   like   a   king's. 

It  is  great  bliss  for  them  to  sit 

And   kiss    beneath   the   maple   trees, 

To    feel    each    other's    heart-beats    flit 
Is  sweet  as  life  can  be  to  these. 

To  speak  one's  highest  thoughts  with  ease, 
To   touch,   to   see   one's   worshiper, 

To    kiss    beneath    the    maple    trees, 
IsJ^very    sweet    to    him    and    her. 


22 


THE  WIDOWER 

He  married  her  and  then  she  died. 

His  flower  was  broken  by  the  wind; 
The  sweetest  flower  in  the  world  wide 

Was  crushed  and  left  no  seed  behind. 

Because    he    did    so    worship    her 
And  could  not  part  with  all  his  love, 

He  laid  her  not  where  others  were 
But  buried  her  in  his  own  grove. 

Beneath  the  trees  where  they  had  talked 
And  trembled  at  each  other's  kiss, 

Below  the  ground  where  she  had  walked 
He  laid  what  love  and  joy  were  his. 

As  she  had   been   his  own  in  life 
He  thought  of  her  as  his  when  dead. 

Though  she  was  now  a  dumb,  cold  wife, 
Her   house   he   often   visited. 

Once  as  he  touched  her  grave  he  said, 
"Sweet,  silent  one,  you  do  not  hear 

While  on  this  mound  I  lay  my  head 
And  speak  of  all  your  goodness,  dear. 


I  know  that  crushed  on  fate's  quick  wheel, 
Sweet,  silent  one,  there  is  no  you, 

But  I  would  give  even  life  to  feel 
That  what  some  people  say  is  true: 

That  I  shall  meet  you  as  you  were 

With  that  strange  sweetness  that  you  had, 

Your  hair  that  made  my  heart  to  stir, 

And  your   clean    smile    that    made   me 
glad. 

Thinking  how  sweet  she  was  to  touch, 
How  sweet  to  kiss  and  sit  beside, 

His   mind  went  wandering  over-much 
And  he  forgot  that  she  had  died. 

He  tried  to  kiss  her  lips,  to  say 

In  thought,  some  name  he  used  to  call, 

But  something  always  barred  the  way  — 
He  seemed  to  strike  against  a  wall. 

He  tried  to  gain  some  certain  hold 

On   this   strange  thing  that   barred   him 
thus  — 

He  vaguely  felt  his  cheek  was  cold 
And  knew  that  there  the  trouble  was. 


That  cold  touch  brought  him  back  to  life, 
And  made  him  quake  in  heart  and  limb; 

He  knew  he  had  a  grave  to  wife 
And  many  lights  were  dark  to  him. 

THE  NEW  AMERICA 

Our  country,   bound  with   bands  of  steel 
From  ocean  shore  to  ocean  shore, 

Thou  art  how  glorious  and  how  real  — 
Like   nothing   earth    has    seen    before. 

In  blood  and  battle  thou  wert  born 
To  stretch  thy  name  across  the  earth; 

From  heaven  full  many  a  star  was  torn 
In  the  dark  evening  of  thy  birth. 

But  many  a  storm  is  weathered  now 
And  many  a  foe  is  laid  to  rest  — 

Green   laurels   deck   thy  still-green    brow 
And  life  still  surges  in  thy  breast. 

—  Still  young  to  make  the  world  go  round, 
To  bear  the  thrusts  and  turns  of  fate; 

Still  flushed  to  make  the  lands  resound 
With    life    and    zeal    intemperate! 


Without  the  lure  of  ancient  days 

But  greater  than  the  dead  past  brings, 

You  roll  upon  your  giant  ways 
Above  the  wrecks  of  dusty  kings. 

What  were  the  ancient  great  that  blazed 
In  colored  pomp  that  flamed  like  the  sun 

To  this  where  liberty  hath  raised 
A  hundred  nations  into  one  ? 

How  would  their  gods  of  battle  class 

With  thine  ?     Thine  iron  ships  would  glide 

Through  triremes  as  through   broken  glass, 
Thy  guns  would  soil  the  phalanx*  pride. 

The  treasures  that  the  Great  King  lost 

At  Susa  and  Persepolis 
Were    baubles    to    the    giant    cost 

That  makes  one  city  what  it  is. 


26 


In   ancient  art  and   polities 

Let   Pedant   of  the   dome-like   brow 

Declare  a  greater  glory  lies  — 

No   one    believes   such    nonsense   now. 

For  all  the  honored  past  has  wrought 
In  sculptured   stone   and  lofty  rime 

And  lordly  heritage  of  thought 
Is  part  of  this,  the  present  time. 

We  are  the  heirs  of  all  the  years; 

And  thou,  the  latest  land  and  last, 
A-throb  with  deeds  and  aims  and  fears, 

Art   chiefest   heir  of  all   the   past. 

And  now  among  the  great  of  earth 
What  nation   dares  thy  fury  feel, 

Or  questions  of  thy  greater  worth, 
Or  dares  to  test  thy  grip  of  steel  ? 

Thy   power  is  feared  on   shore  and   main, 

In  every  land,  on  every  sea; 
Across    the   world    and    back    again 

Is   not   enough   for   thine   and   thee. 


But  now  no  land  fears  thunderous  guns 
Or  fields  of  men  or  iron  boats 

Of  thine  or   any  other  one's  — 

Thy  power  of  wealth  is  at  their  throats. 

For  now  no  land  would  dare  despise 
Thy  food  or  men,  or  dare  express 

A    limit    to    thine    enterprise; 

And   seas    have   found   thee  limitless. 

Where  ghosts  of  bloody  galleons  ride 
And    fearful    shade    imploreth    shade, 

In  peaceful   power  thy  flag  floats  wide, 
Thy  mighty  steamships  ply  in  trade. 

Thus  thou  hast  bound  the  world  about 

With  chains  that  wealth  will  weld  complete, 

And  time  will   bid  thy  power  spread  out 
To   bring  the   nations   to  thy  feet. 

From    greater    heights    to    greater    heights, 
The    past   and    present    to    transcend, 

Thy  glory  leaps   like  leaping  lights, 
And  no  one  now  can  see  the  end. 


28 


IOWA 

No  towering  cities   million-souled 

Blacken  the  beauty  of  thy  plain, 
Or  bind  thine  heart  with  links  of  gold 

Or  curse  of  pleasure  and  of  pain. 

The  sneer  of  wealth  and  vice  and  pride 
That  marks  the  vulgar  millionaire, 

The    foreign    faces    torture-tried 

And    fierce   with   hate   are   otherwise. 

Across  thy  fields  the  sweet  winds  blow 
And   the    red    evening   sunbeams    shine; 

Thine  is  the  joy  of  things  that  grow, 
The  pureness  of  the  earth  is  thine. 

The  cattle  in  thine  endless  fields, 

Thy  good  grain  grown  in  sun  and  shower 
To  the  rich  crop  the  harvest  yields, 

Are  to  the  nations  food  and  power. 

Across  the  lands  the  steam  cars  go, 
Across   the   seas   the   great  ships   glide 

To  melting  rock  and  solid  snow, 
And  thou  art  safely  stored  inside. 


29 


To  snatch  the  dying  from  the  grave  — 
The   living   corpses    famine-gnawed  — 

For  this  you  haste  o'er  land  and  wave  — 
No  land  too  far,  no  sea  too  broad. 

In   alien   lands  the  hungry  strain 

With    dying    flesh    against   the    death; 

The   blessing   of  thy   golden   grain 

Is  their  strong  shield  that  conquereth. 

Let  no   man  say  thou  hast  not  pride  — 
Thou  hast  the    pride  that  wisdom  would: 

The  schoolhouse  on  the  valley-side 

And   health   and   homes   and    brotherhood. 

The  honest  pride  in  honest  worth 

Is  thine,  not  pride  in  wealth  or  ease  — 

Is  not  the  strength  to  till  the  earth 

And  feed  the  world,  better  than  these  ? 

Give  some  the  sick  unrest  that  comes 
With  homeless  golden  wretchedness, 

For  thee   a   hundred  thousand   homes 
And  wider  hearts  that  love  and  bless. 


THE  CITY 

Here  are  the  seats  of  the   mighty 

Fashioned  for  men  as  they  are  — 
Thunder   and   smoke  of  the   railroad, 

Roar    of    the    overhead    car, 
Streets   overcrowed   with    faces, 

Clanging  of  hammer  and  steel, 
Stench   of  the   street   and   the   station, 

Whir   of  the    automobile. 

We  have  builded  it  higher  than   Babel, 

We  have  hollowed  it  under  the  earth, 
We  have  wrought  it  as  mortal  is  able 

For  the  glory  of  man  and  his  mirth. 
On  the  fruits  of  the  earth  he  is  feasted 

In  the  flare  of  the  giant  hotel, 
Through  the  flesh  of  the  earth  on  the  subway 

He   is    hurried    unerringly   well. 

Built  by  the  sweat  of  his  labor, 

Wrought   out  of  iron   and   fire, 
This    is    complete    with    whatever 

Man  can   devise  or  desire. 
Bought  by  his  soul  or  his  money 

Are  pleasure  and  power  and  strife, 
Where   vice   is   the   partner   of  virtue 

And  death  is  the  comrade  of  life. 


31 


In  the  day  the  true  sunlight  is  withered 

To  a  gray  from  the  pureness  of  white, 
In  the  night  this  is  wrapped  in  the  garment 

Of  a   fiery  pink   haze  of  light. 
Like  nothing  that  ever  existed 

In  far-away  ages  or  place, 
We  have  fashioned  this  city  of  wonders 

For  the  glory  and  shame  of  the  race. 


HEAVEN 

Harps    in    heaven    would    not    please, 
Throbbing  all  the  new  day  long, 
Nor    the    strains    of    angel-song 

Chanting   of  the    deity's 

Wisdom,    power    and    majesty; 
If  I  find  my  heaven,  I, 
Passing  all  this  grandeur  by, 

Know  what  I  will  have  it  be: 

Near  a  stream  where  water  wells 
Over    sunlit    sand    and  stone, 
One    girl    walking    all    alone 

In   a   field   of  asphodels. 

— Like  a  lily  not  of  earth 

Growing  at  the  gates  of  dawn 
Where    a    kinder    sun    has    shone 

Since  the  glory  of  its   birth. 

— Like   a  lily  tall   and   rare 
Swaying    in    a    scented    wind, 
Making    all    the    earth    seem    kind. 

Making   all   the   earth   seem   fair. 


33 


It  will  stop  my  heart  to  see 

How  she  stoops  to  pick  the  flowers, 
While   the    changeless    heaven-hours 

Float    away    in    ecstasy. 

I    shall    kiss    her    cool    red    lips; 

Where  the  grass  is  warm  and  sweet 
I    shall  lay   me    at   her   feet 

While    her    trembling    finger-tips 

Trace  sweet  mazes  in  my  hair, 

Wreathe   the   flowers   in   her   own. 
Heavy    crown    or    bulky    throne 

Will  not  mar  our  pleasure  there. 

To   my   sweetheart   I    shall   say, 

"Let  us  think   no   more  of  those 
Who   on  earth  were   friends   or  foes  — 
fy  Here    is    duty    gone    away." 

To    me    will    my    sweetheart    say, 
"In   this    field   of  shining   flowers 
Let  us  taste  the   present  hours  — 

Here  is  memory  gone  away." 

To    my   sweetheart    I    shall    say, 
"  Here  where  lovely  waters   glide 
Through   green   pastures   sanctified 

Circumstance    has    lost    its    way." 


34 


To    me   will    my   sweetheart   say, 
"Think  no  more  of  time  or  change, 
Let  your  heart  in  gladness  range — 

Here  has  death  been  driven  away, 

Though  as  sweet  as  life  can   be, 
On  the  earth  our  love  was  brief 
Here    in    rest    and    sweet    relief 

We  can  love  eternally." 


35 


OUR  CREATION 

Beyond    the    whirl    of   the    planets, 

In   the   outer   dark, 
Where   never   a    sun-ray   enters 

Or  a  star-spark — 
There  is  no  food  for  the  senses 

In  that  far  place, 
No  matter,  no  motion,  and  therefore 

No  time,  no  space. 

Shot  like  an  arrow  onward 

Swifter  than  light, 
Thousands    of   light-years    outward 

Into  the  night, 
Into  the  place  of  the  silence, 

The  cold  and  the  dark, 
Would  we  could  go  past  the  sun-ray 

And   the   star-spark. 

— Just    you    and    I  —  two    lovers  — 

Beyond  all  space, 
When  time  is  lost  in  the  nothing 

Of  that  far  place! 
There  we  should  form  a  creation, 

Out  of  nothing  the  real; 
The  failures  of  earth  we  should  banish 

To  create  the  ideal. 


At  the  first  the  cold  and  the  darkness 

And  the  shudder  of  night 
We  should  change  to  the  flaming  of  colors 

And   the   glory   of  light. 
And  we  should  make  sound  as  of  music, 

Now   heard    and    now    mute, 
And   odors   of  flowers  and   of  perfumes 

And  taste  of  sweet  fruit. 

We   should   create   an   island 

In  a  gold  sea 

Where  the  winds  were  scented  of  roses 
-   And    the   waves    in    glee 
Threw  up  their  bright  yellow  waters 

On  the  golden  sands, 
Where  the  sky  and  the  trees  and  the  colors 

Were  the  work  of  our  hands. 

And  you  would  choose  the  day-tints 

And  I  the  night, 
And  each  might  be  green  or  yellow 

Or  red  or  white, 
And  the  night  might  be  one  of  December 

And   the   day   June's, 
And  the  light  of  the  sun  might  be  purple 

And   green   the    moon's. 


37 


There   where  no   foes   could    unbind  us 

Or  fate  bid  us  part 
We   should   join   all   the   wonder   of  nature 

With   the    pleasure   of  art. 
The  years  could  not  give  us  to  sorrow, 

Nor    death    bid    us    die, 
Nor  chance  by  an  evil  tomorrow 

Wring  forth  a  cry. 

Thus    in    our    own    creation 

Either    shifting    or    still, 
Where  space  and  time  and  sensation 

Were   the   works    of  our   will, 
Beyond  the  realm  of  the  sun-ray 

And   the   threat  of  the   night 
We   should   live   in    a    love   everlasting 

And  the  freedom  of  might. 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE 

This  night  of  all  each  watcher  pondereth 
On    that     fell   gift    that    many    New    Years 

bring: 

The  grave  —  and  thinks  even  as  the  chime- 
bells   ring 

Thousands  of  men  are  giving  up  the  breath. 

Thousands  of  men  like  you  and  me,  he  saith, 
Dying   tonight,    and    more   at   vanishing 
Of  night  will   die,  at  noon,   at  evening — 

And  thus  each  day  till  all  of  us  meet  death. 

Yea,   but  the   early  light  of  morrow-morn 
How   many  thousand   new-born   souls  will 

see! 
And  all  the  destined  days  bear  toward  the 

goal 

The    mighty    millions    of  the    yet    unborn, 
The  truer,   stronger,   better  race   to   be, 
For  which  the  tireless   ages   roll   and  roll. 


39 


SONG  TO  MAI  A 

{From    in    Modern    Times) 

Queen  of  the  earth  and  of  the  year, 
Tender-eyed     Maia,     art    thou     here 

To  fill  all  men  with  breath  of  spring, 
To  dry  with  sun  the  crocus'  tear, 

And  stir  the  leaves  with  gladdening  ? 

Thy  breath  is  of  anemonies 

And    cool    to    nostrils    quick    to    seize; 

Thy  dress  like  Dian's  gold  and  green 
Is  filled  with  ripples  of  the  breeze 

And    scent    of   earth    and    evergreen. 

The  birds  are  happy  thralls  to  you 

And  sing  thy  praise  the  whole  day  through, 

Admitting  need  and  love  of  thee; 
The   brown    fields   take   thy   color   too 

In    token    of    their    loyalty. 

Through  thee  men  lose  their  care  and  fear, 
Leave   Winter's  woe-debts   in   arrear, 

And  all  take  thee  a  youthful  bride; 
Thou  giv'st  them  strength  to  live  the  year 

In  joy  of  spring  and  summer-tide. 


40 


SUMMER 

The  world  is  old  but  beauty  dwells  in  it 
Just    as    in    long-forgotten    centuries, 

There  is  no  change  but  that  our  little  wit 

Wags  of  itself  until  our  reverence  sleeps. 

Still  every  morn  the  new-born  wonder  peeps, 
O'er  the  fresh  hills  or  over  sparkling  seas 
Red  with  the  death  of  deathless  deities, 

Still  the  sweet  summer  winds  upon  their  way 
Shake  the  bright  leaves  the  whole  long    sum 
mer  through, 

Still  in  the  lap  of  Earth  the  lazy  Day 

Lolls  half-asleep   and  overtired  to  woo,     v 

Yet  must  he   kiss   her  golden-shining  hair 

And  tell  her  through  the  years  she  still  is  fair, 
As  ages  gone  has  been  his  wont  to  do. 

This   afternoon   it   seemed   the   very   sun 
Weary  of  turning  rested  half  an  hour, 

Yea,  the  lost  hope  of  many  a  buried  one 
I  thought  had   come    to    summer — deathless 
dower, 

It  seemed  the   middle  of  eternity 

And  that  no  thing  would  ever  come  to  end; 

Not  a  leaf  shook  on  any  tremulous  tree, 

The  shadows  moved  not  on  the  slumbering  grass, 


Only  one    clear,  sweet    bell,  time's   constant 

friend, 

Throbbed  for  the  weary  hours  that  would  not 
pass. 

Tonight  the  horned  moon  is  gold  ablaze 

With  one  gold  star  beside  her  in  the  skies; 
It  is  a  night  when  all  the  wandering  ways 
Of  woodland   are   enchanted;   in   the   leaves 
Pan  is  abroad,  and  by  the  bright  fireflies 
The   dryads   dance   as   everyone   believes 
Who   sees   the   satyrs   on   the   reedy   plain 
And   Daphne  turn  from  wood  to  girl  again, 
Or  hears  the  wind-gods'  whispered  secrecies. 


42 


THE  FLUX  OF  THINGS 

Whereto  shall  we  cling,  we  weak  mortals, 

For  nature  commands   us  to  cling 
To    something    that    stirs    not    nor    crumbles 

Nor  flees  with   mercurial  wing; 
But  all  things  are  shifting,  are  shifting 

As  the  rain  to  the  sun  to  the  rain, 
And  only  the  sureness  of  shifting 

Is  sure  to  remain. 

Strong    rock    that    is    shattered    and    sundered, 

Strong  ship  that  is  sunk  in  the  seas, 
Strong    building   that   lieth    in    ruin  — 

What  faith  can  we  fasten  to  these  ? 
Strong  joy  that  is  slave  unto  sorrow, 

Strong  life  that  is   vassal   to   death, 
You  are  shifting  and  weak  and  uncertain 

As  the  dying's  breath. 

Strong  soul  that  was  born  with  a  purpose, 

Let  us  see  how  you  bear  the  world's  swing, 
You  are  shifting  as  seasons  are  shifting 

From  the  spring  to  the  winter  to  spring. 
The  sun  giveth  place  unto  darkness, 

Nor  knoweth  a  purpose  or  goal, 
And  changes  give  place  unto  changes 

In  the  shifting  soul. 


43 


THE  POET 

The  lone  heights  of  Parnassus  mount 

Are   mine,   and    mine   the   bowers   of  love, 

An    mine    is    the    Castalian    fount 

With  all  the  fame  and  power  thereof. 

For  some  are  fierce  in   battle-strife, 
And  some  are  warm  in  virtue  curled, 

And  some  are  great  in  righteous  life — 
But  it  is  mine  to  rule  the  world! 

For  who  can  stir  the  hearts  of  men, 
And  who  can  shake  the  seats  of  bliss, 

Has   gained   the   great   dominion — 
The  lordship  of  the  world  is  his. 

My    song    can    boom    of    battle-rage 
And  whirl  the  weapons  of  the  brave 

A    sun-baked    conquest-pilgrimage 
O'er  treacherous  land  and  alien  wave. 

Or  soft  as  breeze  in  summer  trees 
Of  sighing  love  my  verses  sing, 

And  I  can  make  with  tricks  as  these 
A  million  lovers  clasp  and  cling. 


'Tis   mine  to  sing  of  desperate   kiss 

And  throbbing  breast  and  passionate  sighs 

And  all  the  sweet  devotedness 

Of  wistful   lips    and   thoughtful    eyes. 

None  can   escape  my  reaching  rule — 
The    dead    man's    friend    disconsolate, 

The  school-boy  in  the  grammar-school, 
The  emperor  in  his  palace-gate. 

None   can   escape    my   pinionings  — 

The  husband  when  the  birth-time  nears, 

The  wife  that  at  the  cradle  sings, 
The   babe   that  in   the   cradle   hears. 

The  blacksmith  with  his  white-hot  bands 
Is  mine  in  singing  at  the  forge, 

With  sighs  and  songs  in  conquered  lands 
I  rule  the  victims  and  the  scourge. 

The  old  man  dying  faintly  leans 

To    hear    a    song    remembered 
Of  youth  and  all  that  youth-time   means. 

None  can  escape  me — save  the  dead. 


45 


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